The fourth series from 1-19 Cruelty and Childhood with a Taste of Rebellion

Ahmed Seif Hashed

(1)

Suffering in childhood

In my childhood I did what my male peers do not do.. I always swept the house, and cleaned all its annexes and facilities.. I tended the sheep, and carried cow dung on my head.. I grappled and harvested.. I helped my mother in what she could not do, especially during pregnancy and childbirth.. and because of Sweeping, smoking, and experiencing misery, I stopped breathing, developed asthma, and almost died twice.

 In the fifth and sixth grade, I used to travel more than ten kilometers every day until I reached school, and ten like it when coming back.. I also lived later while studying in the boarding department, suffering from hunger, destitution and malnutrition..

 I still remember my father’s cruelty at a stage in his life, which exceeded what was familiar and usual.. I rebelled against my father, and his excessive authority.. I resisted more than one injustice that weighed more than my shoulders.. I felt that violent injustice was preying on me and crushing my bones.. I saw death more than once, and I defied Predestination, and I raised a thousand questions in her face.. In a very stressful moment, I thought of storming death and fulfilling the term, I did not play with Hell, and according to my mother’s sayings that the suicide would go to Hell.

 My sense of injustice reached such an extent that I saw life and death as the same..I tried to commit suicide in protest against a bitter reality, and a dignity that seemed to be wasted to me, however, turning away from this foolishness was a victory for life, love and human being..and perhaps also for the survival instinct..

 My father had a wrong policy in education, different from what is found in the general public, or is common among them.. His policy was based on severity, cruelty and violence, and I even consider it tested and its results are certain, and not subject to discussion or observation, as well as reconsideration, especially that it was applied Some of them were on my brother Ali, and the result, in his estimation, came as he wanted and desired, so he was honored by him, and he was proud of his name and that he is his son.

 My father used to beat me a lot on a journey of hardship and torment and work that begins with dawn until evening, and may reach some days up to nine and ten nights in domesticated animals.. that I get beaten a lot has become a normal thing and does not raise any wonder or question.. but what is unnatural and surprising is that he hits me on my day Less than two or three times.. If something like this happened, for me it is a distinct and different day.. It is a feast day, and it may not be repeated except in the following year.. A day like this deserved my celebration.

 I lived through the reality with all its bitterness and its cruelty.. I felt a great humiliation and intolerable humiliation.. I refused to get used to it or reconcile with it, and I expressed my refusal in many cases of rebellion, some of which were passing through death and the unknown, or it was almost the case sometimes..

 This beating often took place in front of a scene of people, and some of this beating was done with shoes.. I felt that even pitiful eyes were eating me.. Boys from my peers would return to their homes and tell their families what happened to me and what happened from my father.. I was some of their conversations on which they feed, or that is what I think.. I used to feel that insult was crushing my bones.. I was swallowing my thorns as if I were swallowing a butcher’s cleaver.

 This experience generated in me an experience of testing and overcoming oppression, and a great sensitivity in introspecting the pain of the oppressed. I created – along with other accumulations – a positive value that I later realized, which is victory for the oppressed, and confronting all that produces injustice, cruelty and broken spirit.. I defend the victims with dedication, and in some of them. If it cost me my life twice, or this is how I feel when challenged, or what I think and think..

 ***

(2)

Fatiha, prayer and punishment

I want the “ship of salvation” .. the ship of the Lord to what He wants and is pleased with.. I want to pray to enter Paradise and abide in it forever.. There is no sadness or death there.. There is no hunger or want.. In Paradise there are apples, grapes and fruits, and rivers of honey and ghee. And Laban.. I was imagining the matter and seeking it with all my soul and soul.. What comfort, luxury and a joyful life that does not end..

 All that I desire will be present and present.. All that you wish for in Heaven will come sooner or later before your end returns to you..

 I used to ask my mother more and more questions, and she was happily recounting and prolonging about Paradise and its details.. She explains with joy as if she is living it.. She tells her scenes in a way that captivates the soul, tempts the winged imagination, enchants the ears, and the hearts are passionate..

 In this bright frame and high-flying imagination, I have always talked to myself, but simply without condescension..

 I want a “life ark” that saves me from the fire, and teaches me ablution and prayer, with captivating and captivating illustrations.. “The ark of salvation” is a brochure that I have been waiting for so long and longed for, and a series of promises have gone unfulfilled.. it was forgetting that delays the implementation Those promises, and he postpones them from time to time.. After a long and patient wait that almost ran out, and promises that were disappointed, my father fulfilled his last promise, and I seemed on that day as if I owned the entire universe..

 When my father handed me the brochure “The Ark of Salvation,” my surprise was greater than my world, and my happiness was greater than the happiness of a thousand worshipers.. A happiness that accommodates every prayer, provides relief to a thousand desperate, and saves every penitent.. My heart is full of joy.. It dances, sings and flies like a butterfly.. I live Astonishment in all senses, and I repeat my archives:

 “I am a brave hero kid*** and everyone loves me

 I pray early in the morning *** and I pray to God to guide me.”

 But joy was killed at its peak, happiness faded, the range shrunk, and they cut the connection as a fool cuts his artery, and the situation changed to the misery of existence, and a beating that I still hear its hum to this day..

 “Teach them by seven and multiply them by ten.” This hadith, which I do not know how true and reliable it is, made me miserable, and it took me a lot, even when I was close to sixty, I did not do well for what I was struck for; The only thing I learned very well is that I have become very sympathetic to donkeys..

 ***

 I fought a fierce battle in order to memorize Surat Al-Fatihah.. I was beaten for it until the heart was stirred.. I was composing in it until my father’s hand and shoes intervened, my mind flew and his senses flew, and I found myself hurriedly reading like prey running after hyenas and lions.. my voice rumbled, and my thinking was disturbed like a sea And a storm… My soul was scattered like sand in a rumbling hurricane, and I flew like sparks of iron fire under a blacksmith’s hammer…

 I forgot to form, adjust and stop, and my tears fell profusely without a season.

 A hurricane of confusion overwhelms me because of hitting and slapping, and my discrimination fades, and everything overlaps with each other, and I see the lines chatting to each other like crocodile teeth. Hear me what to say!!

 My father’s pressure rises, and I press under it like a piece of paper that cannot be resisted, and there is nothing left for you to understand, except with the running of my jammed tongue waiting in my mouth full and crowded with it.

 I was certain that my memorization of Surat Al-Fatihah had become complicated, rather more than impossible, and if I continued to recite it and give it a fatwa until the Day of Resurrection.. I thought that my prayer would not be accepted by my Lord from me as long as my father did not accept it, because of my melodies and my mistakes in reciting it, and I seemed to myself that I would not escape from it even by a miracle, Or so I understood from my father, who received some of the teachings of Islam and memorized the Qur’an and Hadith at the hands of Al-Bayhani in the Crater of Aden.

 ***

 My older brother, Ali Saif Hashid, also fought a battle with my father and praying, as soon as they were together in Aden, and my brother’s rebellion went beyond prayer and his father, until the muezzin of the nearby mosque was long, who threw in his mouth what was blocking while he was opening his mouth while he was calling at dawn. .

 Then my brother Aden left, and fled from my father, the prayer, and the muezzin to Sana’a, and he was still under fifteen years old at that time. When he wanted to join the Military College upon his arrival in Sana’a in 1963, most likely.. the Egyptian officer asked him about his age, and he answered him 15 years; The Egyptian officer said to him: One of the conditions for joining the college is that the applicant be at least 16 years old.. My brother replied to him: “Record 16 years.” The Egyptian officer sobbed, and recorded that my brother’s age was 16..

 However, the most important thing is that my brother, with regard to prayer, exceeded his rebellion against it to more than boycotting it, just as his revolution went beyond my father’s postulates from A to Z..

 ***

 My story with the “life ship” is similar to what happened to the “Titanic” ship.. The Titanic had the highest protection, safety and safety standards, and my ship was in it that was stronger and greater, and “God is the best protector and keeper.”

 The “life ship”, I found it, but I did not find salvation in it, rather I found my disappointment that swallows the ocean.. And the “Titanic” ship, which was believed at that time to be anti-sink, sank deep at the bottom of the ocean..

 “Titanic” four days after its first sailing, collided with a mountain of ice, and it sank to the deep bottom, while I slapped my father’s palm, it was enough to drown me and my ship to the bottom of Hell.

 ***

 My aunt Saeeda, the mother of my brother Ali, was keen to perform the obligatory prayers, and when my curiosity asked her at the end of her life about her reading “Al-Fatihah” during prayer, it became clear to me that she did not read Surat Al-Fatihah, nor any other surahs and verses of the Qur’an, and was satisfied with the remembrance of God for the length of her prayers. With the reading of the tashahhud..

 My aunt “happy” was pious and good in work and dealing, and her heart was full of faith, and she knew our Lord in a way that many of those who pray do not know, while they steal, corrupt, loot, and kill the homelands and with it the forbidden soul, without the slightest concern or reprimand of conscience..

 ***

(3)

My goat does not kill nor pray

Our sheep were few, then their number increased, halal and still.. I nurtured the sheep, and I was a juvenile, or still a child touching with his dewy fingers the thresholds of life.. I have many stories with the sheep, and intimate relationships.. My mother and father’s sheep had a kingdom that filled my little world. Memories and details that have been proven more than fifty years ago, that they are impossible to fade and disappear, were not erased by sunset or forgotten..

 Perhaps you find in some details of your life strange paradoxes that make those who hear you deny their existence.. but it is the truth that sometimes takes you by surprise, or we find it standing in front of us in the middle of the road, telling us to slow down.. in front of you is a slope..

 I still remember to this day the names of the sheep that I nurtured – during different stages – I still remember their shapes and their stories and many details.. I remember “Hajab”, “Bayraq”, “Khars”, “Anab”, “Ghubra”, “Marsh” and “Sawad”. And “Hanna”, “Hamra”, “Nashm”, “Bahriya” and “Qadriya”.

 How rich is the memory with some details, and how often it narrows so that it does not have the capacity to know the age of your son!!

 The memory is still ignited with details of fifty years ago..some of them have become dark and hard to remember despite their recent era, although their distance from today is no more than a stone’s throw away..

 In 2009, when the Swiss immigration and asylum judge asked me, in the “interview” interview, about the names and ages of my children, the question confused me as to what the answer is supposed to be obvious and known.. I fail to mention the names of my seven children, and I feel that some of them are flying like strays, so I return them, and others escape from my hands Like birds, some of them fall to the ground without I hear their sound or buzzing, and some of them swoop in and I remember them twice..

 I further failed to determine the age of any of them, amid the astonishment of the judge, who likened us to a rabbit farm, when I resorted to a trick of sequencing them with a general difference between each one and the other… While the Palestinian translator was looking at me, pointing out that my face resembled that of President Saleh, And I did not see one of us having forty resemblances.. But I realized that the Yemenis are also similar in the eyes of the distant people, just like the Koreans, the Chinese and others..

 ***

 I still remember the goat “Hijab” the Laboon, and its body is larger than what is familiar and usual, and its origin is from an ancient Indian dynasty, or so it was said.. One day, she was hit by an “eye” and she died, or rather, so they claimed..!

 I still remember “Kharas” or “Bayraq” and the rebellion of “Anab” and “Hanna” to which it applies, such as “Wherever Batteh puts him in”, Nashm “The Smart”, the blackness of the good, “Marsh” and “Bahriya” My poor mother’s sheep.. This was some of my little world that I live and belong to.

 I remember the goat “Kharas”, which my mother gave me what was in its womb, in return for my interest in the family’s sheep, and my efforts in herding them.

 The blind poet Bashar bin Burd said at the beginning of one of his poems: “O people, my ears for some neighborhood are in love… and the ear loves before the eye sometimes.” Captivating and captivating, from a child who wants his dream to have an existence that accommodates him and his great love..

 I fell in love with “Bayraq” while she was still in her mother’s womb, in the process of formation, growing and growing little by little, and I watched her mother’s swollen belly every day, as a farmer waiting for the harvest, or as a child watching the dawn break on the night of Eid, and he hurried to darken him, to rejoice, to wear the new, and to be released Joy has its space and help it..

 “Bayraq” came out of her mother’s womb to the front of the universe, as bright as the dewy morning.. Beautiful as a dull eye, black and white.. Her birth overwhelmed me with a joy that cannot accommodate all of existence.. The wretched “Bayraq” grew up without horns.. “Bayrak” does not like wars.. She is not tempted by a bully or a military parade.. Peaceful as a dove.. Her whiteness is as white as snow.. And when she grieves, her sadness is as black as a mourning garment.

 I kept raising her and taking care of her.. I take care of her day by day.. I earned her from my perseverance, and I watered her from the sweat of the brow.. There is no suspicion of one king over another, no corruption is tainted by her, and there is no piety with the head of a devil.. Every day “Biraq” grew and grew, but it did not It burns a stage, it does not return us to the age of dinosaurs, it does not extend its hand to a murderer, it does not rob a suffering people, and it does not take the rights of a needy and needy.

 Perhaps “Biraq” does not pray or hypocrisy, but it has the chastity that irrigates a country and its people with pure water.. It grows as God wanted it without making our days and months arbitrary, or using poison and drugs to enlarge it.. It grows slowly, and not as quickly as corruption in the states and provinces of princes’ militias. Wars.. just say without slandering or pretending, or make out of the grasshopper’s back feathers of pigeons and silk, and do not make art from the croaking of frogs..

 ***

(4)

Bans and bans!

The heartbreak was engulfing me like a snake folds its prey.. the ban bared its fangs in the face of my tired childhood.. the reality frowned in the face of my small world whose rights to play, have fun and be happy like other children.. Or life tells us that it is worth living..a lot of sadness surrounds me and a lot of pain weighs me down..

 I used to see my peers, children having fun and playing and living a normal life that I had always desired, while I am forbidden from any play and amusement except for the small limit fenced by prohibition and the time that oppresses its owner, oppressed by orders and with an authority similar to the fate that cannot be answered..

 After the rain or in the days that followed, my peers used to go swimming in what is called “Qalt” in “Mainat Sharar”, while I am forbidden to go to it with a matter that cannot be disputed or discussed.. I may have been able to go to it twice, almost miraculously, and I almost drowned, and drank from it. Water and algae.. They beat me to pray and did not teach me to swim.. A paradox that I lived through in a childhood devoted to prevention and deprivation..

 My peers go to wedding parties.. they dance on the drums, sing and the flute.. the children get high and enjoy while I hear from afar the sound of drums and the singing of prostitutes.

 My wishes for attending wedding parties are crucified with prohibitions and precautions.. I am forbidden to go to wedding parties except in a rare and small amount in a close marriage I attend and I am burdened with my great shyness..

 Even attending my relative’s wedding was not free of vexation and annoyance.. I remember attending the first wedding of my cousin Abdo Farid when one of them exposed me and was shy and sassy and revealed to the audience that I do not go to school but go to the bottom of “Mogran” Amore; He means we drink cheap “Marib” cigarettes and then come back as if we came back from school, while we don’t reach it.. We used to call what my colleagues and I were doing that day as “Hafsana.” When my father learned about the matter, I was beaten and punished.

 My peers play football games from the foot to “Al-Basiyyah” and other games such as “Aman and Habes”, “Al Duwais” and “Ghimaah” and other popular games nowadays, while I am being restricted and my freedom to play seems to be in a small cell space trying to breathe from a window small in it..

 I would take advantage of any negligence of my father, to escape his control, stray from him, and indulge in playing until the ears, but it was an immersion that did not last long, and my father’s omission was only short, and my space in it was like a beautiful dream, but it was cut off by a thunderbolt that resembled my father’s voice.. My father was quickly He misses me, and screams at my call, so as soon as I return to him, he calls me with a complete punishment at once, in which there is no installment or delay, as a punishment for my little rebellion from his obedience, and the stray from his authority and mandate..

 Sometimes I took advantage of my father’s going to the market, or to any other distant destination, and played and played without getting tired or hopeful, while my good grandmother, my father’s mother, who had a disease in her legs, was locked in her house at the top of the mountain, and her release overlooking the valley, and as soon as she saw my father at the beginning the valley back to our house, until you call me and tell me the code of my name; This is enough for me to run back to our house, and look like a child who carries out his father’s orders not to go out and play in his absence.

 Thus, the stifling orders made me lie, hide, and rebel against them within the limits of what is possible and available; If my case was exposed for any reason, I endured the harsh results with patience and struggle, and this may push me to another rebellion that differs, in which I express to myself my refusal to submit to a patriarchal authority that seemed to me a tyrant..

 I used to envy my fellow children, and I saw their parents treating them as if they were adults like them, and overflowing with love on them, while I was chewing my wounds, suffocating with lessons, and being slaughtered with a stinger like knives.

 I used to ask my Lord: Why is my father not like these?! Why did they not create this Lord in another place in the universe, and in the universe there is more than my father’s house? The important thing is for my mother to be with me, as I cannot leave her.

 I used to ask myself: Why does my father treat me so harshly, while other fathers treat their children with all kindness and gentleness, and even respect and high esteem as well, as if they were old at the age of their fathers!

 My father used to treat me in accordance with the harsh proverb: “Strike your son and give him the best manners. He only dies for his sake.” My father’s idea of education was that “beating is a waste” and makes men more virtuous.. My father believed that it was a proven education, and it came to fruition before, And what Ram and I want..

 My father and I – perhaps – each of us used to read things in our own way, and each of us saw the truth with him.. Despite my rebellion, I never thought to record a heroism against him, but perhaps he sought an excuse as well.. The reality is bitter, the robbery is obscene, the upbringing is distorted, and awareness is damaged. A reality that generates a great deal of cruelty, violence and alienation.

 Perhaps one of the reasons for my father’s restriction on my life, some of it is due to fears and some of it is that he lives in crowded preoccupations, tension, and responsibilities that exceed his energy and my mother’s.. Hardships and responsibilities were many.. A shop, buying and selling throughout the day and even entering the night while taking care of my younger brothers needed Also for a lot of interest, making and selling sweets, cultivating the land, and the multiplicity of business in it according to the seasons, from seed to harvest, and I also do not forget that we have a cow, a donkey, an ox and sheep, and many responsibilities and details, which burden my tired father and mother..

 They were drowning in work a lot, from dawn until nine o’clock at night and sometimes after… I knew that they were burdened with many tasks and those details of daily life, and I found myself with them in bearing some of that responsibility, and my space was little, and playing with my peers was little, or not available. And many times I find an effective Ottoman firma from its high door saying “It is forbidden to play,” so it is from me to commit, and from me to rebellion as well, no matter what the cost..

 Despite everything, I loved my father, and I feared if he fell ill, or threatened with death because of… He also loved me, and he might see what he was doing for me and out of love and fears as well.. Maybe we both came out a little angry about this and that..

 I felt that my father’s death would burden me with a responsibility heavier than a mountain, and I was still young and could not bear it, not even to try, because I am at an age that I cannot take responsibility for myself, so what about the responsibility of my mother and my brothers.. I used to see orphans and the suffering and deprivation they endured And torment.

 ***

(5)

Where were you born, “mother”?!!

I used to wonder about paradoxes spontaneously, and sometimes out of curiosity of knowledge, about a world that is still completely unknown to me, or immersed in extreme ambiguity, and difficult to understand its alphabets and axioms, for a young child like me, who is still trying to touch the threshold of first knowledge, and knock on closed doors with as many questions as possible Looking for answers, despite the impediments of shame and the taboo that address the existential worrying questions, and in areas that are still prohibited, mined or not allowed.

 Questions to which the answer has become, a catalyst for more frequent or proliferating questions, which reveal more intractable knowledge for like me, and sometimes I find myself drowning in confusion, perhaps sleeping or resting for a while and then re-posing itself again in the first similar event or occasion, because of my dissatisfaction and my conviction in the answers Which seems ready, or is wrong, or I have doubts about it, or about the prevailing concepts that I think are wrong or false..

 My mother may be smart and I seem convinced for some time in the answer, but as soon as the incident is repeated, the question comes back more urgent than before, and the previous answer seems to have become in my consciousness fragile or more weak than it was..

 Sometimes I rebelled by asking about what is usual and familiar, knocking on the door of the silent, and passing what is forbidden, in a heavy reality with the rubble of the past, the burdens of shame, the power of fear, and the declared rebuke of those who transgress what is forbidden.

 I used to ask my mother questions without knowing that she would have to lie in answering them with the name and justification of the fault?! I used to ask my mother about my existence, and how did I get out of her womb to the face of the world, and from what outlet did I go out exactly?! And when my mother is born and I see my newborn brother or sister; I repeat the same persistent question.. while my mother at first answered me laughing or smiling that we got off her knees..then she aroused my curiosity more and I ask her how?! The newborn is larger than her knee; I may be confused and ask more!!

 Perhaps my mother’s answer to the question seemed unconvincing or did not give me satisfaction, and it did not dispel my confusion, but rather I found it growing and expanding, and the question remains stuck in my mind, and my small mind remained motivated to find out the answer, but I found the brilliance of other questions, which reproduce like light from my mother’s dark answer..

 My mother’s knee has no outlet for anything to come out of!! And there is no trace of it that can reveal something or something new from it that came out, in addition to the fact that my mother’s knee does not have bruising, tribulation or wound to support her claim.. There is no trace on my recovering mother’s knee of anything that supports her funny answer to my question!! Then how can something larger than the outlet below it come out, which does not have enough space for the head of the newborn to come out, so how about the whole newborn?!!

 Many questions my mother did not answer, or answered them in a wrong way or deliberately lying about them, and the questions from the inside kept kicking me from time to time, without finding an answer that would cure my question, and dispel my expanding confusion..

 My mother insisted on her answer, and did not give up on it until after a while, and until then I had to keep running with that question or those questions, which my mother’s answers gave birth to, and my little mind did not comprehend!! Today, many adults are deceived by their rulers’ fallacies more easily than my mother’s answers, which did not deceive my childhood.. The difference is different..

 I used to hear my mother’s wailing and her torment while she was giving birth, but they would prevent me from entering her, or to the place where she was giving birth. Rather, I was forcibly removed from the nearby place, and this removal was mixed with sluggishness and redemption by some of the women present, in order to prevent me from hearing her tormented voice, tormented by childbirth. And I shall be prevented from knowing anything more than that my mother is now giving birth, and I shall be informed after the birth; Is the baby a brother or a sister?!

 They would not allow me to enter the place until after everything was over.. When I entered, I could see the rope hanging to the ceiling stage, and my gills could receive the smells of incense, sweetness, myrrh, and other birth supplies that were burning, or my mother drank them to relieve pain and effects birth, but these things were unable to reveal or answer my question: Where did my born brother or sister come from?!! The truth is that the questions were multiplying, without finding an answer to them that would cure my curiosity, or even my innocent spontaneity.

 The pressing questions and their answers are repeated, which may not do me more than the birth of other questions, even if after a while.. My mother tried to convince me that my brothers and I came out of her bed, an answer that probably kicked me more than the question! I was bewildered and not convinced of the answer.. Indeed, my doubts increased after I realized that she had lied in her previous answer, and her credibility declined in me.. I asked how her navel, which opened no more than the tip of her finger, could accept the passing of a child larger than my mother’s knee and navel combined..

 After a while of my insistence on asking her questions, and her feeling that I was becoming more skeptical about her answer, my mother told her third lie, as she claimed that my brothers and I came out of her mouth.. But how can a mouth, no matter how wide, bring out a child larger than it!! Why didn’t you choke on him?! How can a child of a larger size come out of his mouth without him, or much smaller than him?!!

 Perhaps these questions weighed in my head, and my mother’s most intentional wrong answers, through which she concealed the truth from me, sometimes ignored my questions, laughed at my questions, or sometimes answered her accompanied by a smile, confused me, and her insistence on an answer made me feel dissatisfied, or not convinced of what she was answering..

 I knew the truth, but after a while I did not see it in my early life, other than these days when our children realize things that we were not aware of in those days.. and I discovered that we waste years of knowledge because of the defect that inhibits our minds motivated to fly, and I knew that the defect delays us a lot. It is one of the facts that are supposed to have become cognitive axioms in childhood, and I found that it is important to do as much as possible to free us from the defect that weighs us down, when we find this defect turns into an obstacle to knowledge, and to an extent that we should not take lightly..

 My mother’s answer in those days, compared to the difference, was similar to the answers of those who govern us today here and there, and their responses to our questions. However, my mother’s wrong answer was motivated by the motive of staving off shame, and in order to preserve the water of modesty, and for reasons of modesty at that time.. As for today’s rulers, their motives are Defending their sick selves, their betrayals, corruption and looting, and their perpetration of all horrific crimes from impoverishment, corruption and killing the citizen, to impoverishing and killing the homeland..

 ***

(6)

Protest and questions that reproduce like light

As a child, I used to imagine God according to the state in which he is of anger, joy, rest and pleasure.. and he sees me in every case.. and I imagine the two angels accompany me at all times, and do not leave me even when I go to relieve myself..

 I used to ask about God, and most of the time I imagined him as a huge man as tall as the sky resting on a huge sofa, or a smooth sky like a wide mirror the width of the sky, and he was comfortable looking at us and following our actions from his place, and sometimes I imagined him resting on a big bed, or sitting on a great stretcher and eight Of the great angels carrying it, or so I was told.. Then this image changes in my mind as I imagine God getting angry at my questions and threatening me with punishment and fire.

 I used to ask my mother and ask God questions that I feel angered him.. I wonder spontaneously or out of curiosity of knowledge, and I am confused with every question that explodes inside me, and he does not find an answer for him, or I find an answer for him, but I doubt his correctness, and I tend to think that it is a wrong or baseless answer..

 At first glance, some of the questions seem simple, but they look like the easy one.. My mother sometimes ignored my question, and sometimes answered in a way I could not imagine, and in some shocking questions, I saw my mother’s face dumbfounded with fear and panic.

 Some of the questions were big, maybe small, but they knocked on big doors, and if some of them drowned in some details that do not come to the minds of adults.. You suppress my question very harshly.

 Of course, those questions and those before them were not in these forms that I am writing now, but were in another form, or an approach or conducive to the meaning that I evoke here and write it.

 Questions that do not end, but reproduce and multiply, faced with repression and violence and the absence of an answer, or a wrong, wrong or false answer that I do not like to swallow, or swallow it with difficulty without conviction for a while.

 ***

 The suppression of questions was not confined to the home, but I used to find the same even at school.

 The science teacher was busy explaining the lesson.. I was listening to his explanation, and the word “faeces” is repeated in the explanation without knowing what this “faeces” is!! First time I hear this word and I don’t know what it means!! Certainly my colleagues are like me, but they may not have dared to ask.. I asked the professor: What is this “stool”?!

 He replied tightly, and with a nervous movement of his hand and foot, trying to make me feel my stupidity and embarrassment from the answer by saying: “The other.” Those in the class laughed.. which made me very embarrassed.. If the professor had asked all my classmates with it, they would have been unable to answer him.. I was overwhelmed with shame in class, and I bore the result alone and reluctantly, while everyone benefited from the answer, and I was the martyr.

 ***

 I used to ask: Why is Thabet Salih poor? He is kind, hardworking, and toiling for little pay?! And why is “So-and-so” rich while he is unjust, fraudulent and evil, according to what my mother told me?!

 My mother answers: He is God; And in the Hereafter, those who have been wronged in the life of this world will be treated with justice.

 I ask: Why do we slaughter the ram of the “Eid” and shed its blood?!

 My mother tells me the story of Ismail and his father Ibrahim, peace be upon him.

 I ask: Why does our poor and pet cat eat her young, and what is the fault of the young ones for being eaten?! It is an act that leaves me with sadness and heartbreak, and a big lump in the throat..!!

 My mother replied: It is the wisdom of God in His creation.

 ***

 I once asked: Will God punish the fox that kidnapped our chicken one day from its den next to our house in the depths of the dark night.. She was screaming and crying out in a heartbreaking voice.. a voice I had never heard before.. It was more painful than death and bigger than a loudspeaker.. No A helper for her, and no helper.. Her voice was screaming, splitting the night in two, as if she was asking the existence to do something for her?!

 My father hit a bullet in astonishment, perhaps the fox would leave her in fear of the sound of the bullet, which may be equivalent to the sound of a cry for help, but the fox did not leave his feast, and silenced the sound and breath of our chicken forever.. I almost protested against the Lord, and against this crushing life.. Her voice to this day I can I remember him clearly more than fifty years later.. Her voice ripped the silence of the night, and her screaming voice sparked sparks.. A voice I do not want to remember; Because recalling her voice in my memory brings me a lot of pain, and reminds me of the horrible imbalance of justice, and how cruel this life is..!

                                                      ***

 One day, a distant earthquake or a slight earthquake that lasted for a few seconds frightened me after I knew that our house could fall on some of it, and the roof would fall on our heads.. I was asking: Why does God shake the earth?! My mother answers that the earth is on the horn of an ox. If the ox moves its horn, an earthquake strikes and disaster strikes.. and as soon as I ask her what this ox stands on, the earth stands on its horns!! She does not answer, and if she insists on the question, she answers that she neither knows nor knows.. A gap in the awareness of a child continues to grow and expand as long as he does not find a convincing or palatable answer or what he is deceiving.

 I ask: Why does God kill children in earthquakes and torrents?! Then I remember what was said about the torrent that washed away Hamid from the head of Wadi Sharar, and that torrent was named after him.

 I used to imagine the scene when I went every morning to the “Al-Maarifa” school in “Thawjan” on foot, and passed every day from the same place or close to it, which was said that the torrent had washed away Hamid from it.. I was imagining the scene and imagining an unequal battle between the victim Hamid, who had fallen His strength, and deflected the violent torrential rain..

 Today, corruption and looting have become more severe than Noah’s flood.. more sweeping than “tsunami.” In it.. we are trying to survive by Noah’s ark and with a wise awareness a thousand patience and the news of steadfastness.. we are facing a tyranny that lives on death and blood.. whoever finds a way is swept away..

 We persevere and resist the catastrophe.. we wait for its horror to subside so that we can survive and cross the remnants of a homeland to safety or sanctuary.. this catastrophic war lives on murder, corruption, destruction and great devastation, and it does not want to end or witness the demise of anything but our own, or the fading of our consciousness..

 ***

 I ask my mother: Why do diseases kill children?!

 Why is measles, which once threatened my life, killing children like me, and those younger than me.. Children who are unable to resist disease, and are forced to die to separate from those they love?!

 My mother answers: The dead children reside in heaven..and in heaven there is everything that is good and desired by man, and my sister is Noor and Samia with the daughters of the poplars in heaven, and they will intercede for us on the Day of Resurrection, and we will enter heaven with them, or you will receive us at her door..

 My mother used to tell me that death comes in the form of a one-eyed man who seizes a person’s soul… and I used to ask why death is one-eyed?!

 My mother answers: Because the Prophet of God, Moses, blew one of his eyes before he took his soul.. I always wished that Moses had killed him and relieved us of the grief of parting with our loved ones.

 ***

 My mother also tells me that the “millers” are blind, so I ask my mother why she is blind?!

 She answers me: that the snake exceeded “Al-Halaban” and deceived him. So “Al-Halban” took the legs of the snake in a cunning exchange deal, and the snake took the eyes of “Al-Halban” and its speed..

 I felt ashamed that the “millers” were blind and did not see, and on top of this the movement became impeded by the many legs, while the snakes took from the milkers their sight and the speed of their movement.. It is the cunning that triumphed and continued and will continue to the end of time..

 The deal seemed to me unfair to the poor and good “Al-Halban”, and he lost the deal in a grievous way, and became blind and disabled, in a deal that was not fair..

 That is why I used to shepherd the sheep in the mountain and sympathize with the “millers” when I found them walking slowly and hard after the rain, so I moved them from one place to another better place, and shortened the way for them by carrying them to that place that I guessed was the best, and she would not have guided without me. Then I find some of my sheep strayed away from me as soon as I was busy transporting the milkers.

 ***

 My mother sometimes tried to answer, so she was unable and oppressed me and prevented me from these questions that lead to infidelity and the torment of the Fire. As for my father, I would not dare to ask him because of his prestige and my fear of his punishment.. My mother was closer to my sentimental than my father.

 In one sense, I was asking questions, and I did not find a sufficient and satisfactory answer to them.. I was angry at those who make death easy, waste life, produce violence and cruelty, and justify and justify injustice.

 I ask myself and I ask my mother with what it means: Why does God not help me memorize Surat Al-Fatihah as it should?! Why does God not create for us a mind that memorizes, or a memory that makes it easy for us to read and memorize it, as long as it is his book and his words?!

 Then the questions intersect and end with the question about God: How is He?! How do I find myself?! How was it before?! I do not meet Juba, but I find repulsion and anger intensifying, and a rebuke that prevents me from asking again.. But the questions remain inside me that do not calm down and do not get tired, and the repression has not succeeded in eliminating them..

 ***

 Before I knew the meaning of marriage, I was expressing my desire to marry our neighbor who is four times my age?! One day I tried to hold on to her and prevent her from going to her house from our house, because I wanted to marry her, without knowing anything about the reality of marriage and what it was, more than her staying with us in our house..

 And when I grew up, I began to know something about marriage, and I used to watch my face in the mirror and see my ugliness in my eyes, and more than that, I found some people of my age who drew their eyes from my eyes.

 One day, I asked my mother in the form of a sentence: Why did God make me ugliness with bulging eyes, and did not equate me with my peers?! She replied that she had heard from my father, “I look like my grandfather Hashem in his eyes”.. These genes were inherited and transgressed my father to be the inheritor of what I do not want.. And once she told me that she dreamed of a child who was beautiful, and his wide eyes were more beautiful..

 This is how I might have thought one day.. I had no choice even to choose my eyes or my face or something that pertains to me in my body.. the simplest things of my own were not at my hand.. How could it be.. It was something that was completely outside my desire and will..

 And when I grew up a little, I used to ask myself: Will the one I love marry me, despite the ugliness that God created in my eyes, and deprived me of the handsomeness that God should not have deprived me of?!

 At a later stage, I may have appeared in my imagination before myself as like Al-Jahiz in his eyes.. Exophthalmos who overpowered the name of his owner.. People knew him as Al-Jahiz more than Amr bin Bahr.. It was said that the title of Al-Jahiz was undesirable for him, and even hated him, except that he was at his age. His old age used him and he became famous for it..

 It seems that this exaggeration is what made his owner look ugly, until he narrated that a woman asked him to accompany her to the goldsmith to engrave for her a picture of a demon on the ring resembling him, because she thought that he looked like Satan.

 I found myself not the only one who suffered from the ugliness and protested against it. Rather, the poet Al-Hutay’ah satirized his face by saying:

 “I see a face that God has made disgraceful * * * so it is ugly and its bearer is ugly.”

 When I ran for membership in the House of Representatives, my campaign team posted pictures in one of the areas of my constituency, and when I passed by, I noticed some pictures had been distorted by dementia, leaving the rest as it is without eyes. On snatching success, in response to the practice of ugliness which I found pouring over my tired and tormented eyes..

 Today, because of a sensitivity in my eyes that has become chronic, in addition to a lot of staying up late and a lack of sleep, the redness has become severe and inherent to it, but those who carry ugliness in their eyes and minds, attribute to me the accusation of “tactfulness”, and they mean that I am drunk all day and night, and it is part of the political plot that It is used here by some political opponents in religious groups to defame and defame its owner in front of the public, who defame the drinker more than they condemn murderers, looters, corrupt and fraudsters.

 I remembered here what I read from the anecdotes of Al-Jahiz; Where it is said that he went to Yemen, entered its markets and toured many of its neighborhoods, but found people alienated from him due to the ugliness of his appearance, and no one hosted him, and on his way back to Basra, he met one of his companions, and asked him: How are Yemen and its people?

 And he answered:

 Since I came to Yemen I haven’t seen a good face

 May God bless a town more beautiful than I am

 ***

(7)

Rabbit slaughter

When I became a child who was able to distinguish, and who could understand the basics of the meaning of life and death, or the intuition of the difference between staying and leaving.. I passed through unforgettable scenes no matter how old the days and years passed them.. Fifty years have passed, perhaps a little more than them, and they are still alive in memory, and impossible to folding, and it is not overcome by forgetting.. I watched them slaughter a rabbit, his screaming voice still explodes my memory with pain, whenever I asked him for an occasion, or a scene reminded me of him from today..

 I remember his horrific scream before the slaughter, as if a child had worn him, and he started screaming in his heartbreaking and explosive voice.. I remember putting the knife to his throat, in protest against his execution without any guilt other than the desire of the one who craves it, while his heart beats at its height, and his breath is like the breath of the participants in the suburban race And his body agitated by the fever that overwhelms him.

 When he began to slaughter him, I remember the heavy hand applied to his mouth, trying to stifle his voice and his expression, and his breath was suppressed, while some of his shocked voice was flying like sparks, between the fingers of the hand applied to his mouth… as if it was a voice of existential protest that resisted a terrifying and ugly reality in its details..

 I always remembered this painful scene as it is, as if it happened today, and I compare it to painful scenes, that have passed or are still passing today.. I remember it as I see the strangling of any voice that wants to reveal its pain or the pain of people, or wants to protest against the injustice that weighs on the shoulders, And the bleeding heart, the one afflicted by power and afflicted by conquest, and the pen that they want to execute, and perhaps they have reached the extremes of demanding the execution of its companion along with it.

 They want to mute people’s breath, and silence their slaughtered voices so that no one can hear them.. They use the hand of power and heavy dominance to conquer them and put them out forever.. They want to tie people’s hands to their necks, break their resistance, and execute the voice of the cry for help.

 Moral executions they practice against their citizens for the benefit of their tyranny.. they want them to submit to them like flocks.. submissive and surrender to them like slaves.. they don’t want anyone to express a protest or objection or a position or an opinion in which you exercise even the minimum of your existence and humanity..

 They want you to be them, not you.. so I did everything in my power to be where I want.. I feel that I exercise my existence when I seek and search for the freedom that I yearn for, and I exercise my will in the face of those who want to take it.. I find some in the saying of the American philosopher and poet Ralph Waldo Emerson “The best achievement is being the person you want in a world that is trying to make you the person you don’t want.”

 Here they want to uproot your tongue from the roots.. They want to rob your mind, take your freedom, violate your independence, and corrupt your conscience to the end.. They want to engage in murder, corruption, tyranny and tyranny without any objection or objection.

 ***

(8)

Castrate the Eid ram and castrate the virility of men

I still remember them castrating the Eid ram..I watched them in large numbers as they descended on it with all their strength and weight..They took him with his four legs, his head and his butt, and laid him on the ground, and opened his legs, while he was trying to kick and scatter the resistance..

 They put a smooth, hard stone near his feet, and put his testicles on that stone, then they started striking the testicles and their heels, with an iron hammer, while he was in pain and resisting in vain or salvation under the benefit of many and a force descending on him like fate, and when they completed what they wanted, they released him after they They killed him with an iron hammer.

 I was in a daze.. I don’t know what they are doing!! They did not tell me anything before, or what they intend to do, or what they will do.. I was puzzled why they would do what they are doing!! Why did they hit his testicles with a hammer?!! What did the testicles do to them?! I was the only one out there living the hell of the moment, and I share the agonizing pain of the victim.

 I was the only one in awe at what was happening!! The only one who deep down the question!! While the others did not care about me, did not pay any attention to me, and I had no authority or decision to prevent them from doing them with extreme cruelty and transgression..

 My curiosity, which remained trapped inside me, could not object, but was able to ask my mother after everything was over… What did you do and why?! My mother’s answer was: In order for him to grow up quickly, and sweeten his flesh and fat on Eid… The truth was not the answer to my passion and satisfaction!! What is the relationship between his testicles and what the answer claimed.. When I grew up, I read about an excuse to castrate singers to beautify their voices.

 ***

 When I grew up, I also read what is more strange and astonishing.. I read a jurisprudential opinion that says that the artist should be castrated so as not to seduce women.. It was narrated that the Caliph Abd al-Malik bin Marwan because his maidservant poured water away from his hands to hear the voice of one of the singers chanting from afar. Castrated out of fear for Muslim women. And that the Caliph Suleiman bin Abdul Malik, as soon as he was on a picnic, ordered the castration of one of the singers when he heard his melodious voice, and I think that he poses a danger to the chastity of Muslim women.

 More than this is what Al-Isfahani narrated that a fly led to the castration of singers in “Madina” when one of the Umayyad caliphs ordered the governor of “Madina” to “count” the singers, and that the governor saw a dot on the h left by a fly so that the word turned into “castration” instead of “counting.” The governor ordered that all of them be castrated, and “Al-Dalal” – one of the most famous singers of “Al-Madina” and the most witty, beautiful and good-natured – was among the list of eunuchs.

 The slaves who worked inside the sultans’ palaces and women’s homes were also castrated to prevent sex with women in them.. They also castrated the children and boys of enemies who were being enslaved, with a desire to cut off their offspring and suppress their sexual feelings.

 ***

 During the era of the imams in Yemen, and especially during the era of Imam Yahya Hamid al-Din, I read in “The Hostage” by Zaid Muti’ Dammaj that the policy followed by them in subjugating the tribes, ensuring their loyalty, and not turning against them is the system of hostages followed, where the imam takes the sons of the sheikhs and the chiefs of the tribes as hostages to him , and whoever tries to escape and is arrested, they will chain him with iron shackles in the Cairo Citadel for life.

 Boys were chosen from among the hostages whose ages did not exceed the age of dreaming to serve the Imam’s sanctuary and his own, and some of his deputies and his princes. They have the name “Dwidar” and they are the ones who do the work of eunuch slaves..

 Zaid Muti’ Dammaj tells in “The Hostage” that those who practiced “Dewidar” work and returned to the Cairo Citadel again, were telling strange and strange things. In their bodies with some slackness and wilting in the wrong time.” He also noticed the interest of the castle guards in these soft-touch, soft-spoken people, with their clean clothes sent to the ground, and the embroidered “cofie” that the women of the palaces woven, to hide their curly combed hair, which smells of the fragrant fat that inhaled with the pleasure of the guards..

 They used to preserve the chastity of their women by castrating those boys under duress and coercion.. They treated their deficiency with a more severe deficiency.. They were burdened with knots and incurable infirmities.. In this regard, you can evoke the popular saying: “You want an excuse or a donkey.”

 As for today, it has become worse and more painful than yesterday, as we see eunuchs have become more widespread, wide and ugliness, as minds, voices, pens and actions are castrated.. It is a more and more painful eunuch.

 Today I learned how to exercise power, castrate men, and how to rob them of a future that we have always ascribed to them.. I learned how men are transformed from rivals and elites into campaigners of blasphemy, submissive followers and robbed of will and action, they have no power or power.. and how power and money exercise their influence over many intellectuals. Holders of higher degrees, academics, and how men are transformed into horns without a will, attitude or conscience.. I knew the emptiness of the intellectual and the media person who falsifies awareness, and is led behind the politician like a ram or a sheep that is dragged to flay and does not gored.. I have known many eunuchs, and I certainly knew Damama The power that wields eunuchs and villains.

 I knew the fragility of the intellectual who sells his conscience from the first show.. the fragility that collapses at the first blow of a hammer that falls on the head or the testicles.. the intellectual who has become a follower revolves around the orbit of his fetish and his disdain, losing his conscience and his existence.. And men without manhood, virility, or existence.

 On the other hand, I have also known people who are distinguished by the stature of palm trees and the steadfastness of the mountainous mountains.. free and honest people who prefer sacrifice over surrender, resistance over submission, and courage over fear.. Their conscience is anxious and alert, they do not sell or bargain, even if they offer their owners the money of the earth and the stars of the sky, and they promise them as well. In the second house, the hell of the earth could not compel them to surrender and submit to tyrants and usurped rule.

 ***

(9)

Slaughter, blood and wars !!

The Eid sheep that you nurtured and took care of, and lived with him day by day, and he became a close companion, why do they slaughter it?! On the day of Eid, I watched him tense and stuck in place like a board, refusing to leave his barn and leaving his family, who seemed to me with a high degree of anticipation and attention, as if they felt that some event would happen that they did not want to happen, while I was crushed with pain and suffocated by protest more than everyone..

 I watched them stifle him and force him to walk, as if he was aware that he was going to slaughter and flay.. I watched him full of fear and dread.. My eyes monitored the situation, and she reproached and protested in silence that almost exploded, and crosses in the throat objecting to the reality of the situation, and I practiced against her what I could from Silent repression.

 His eyes were terrified and terrified by a knife whose blade is holding the grip of the one who will slaughter him.. I saw him urinating twice in a short period of time in the same place.. his bladder is living moments of panic, and perhaps you are trying to protest as much as you can!! Moments later, I saw him wandering in the same place, the rope on his neck, and his tip clenched with another fist that prevents him from going two steps further from him.. Moments of anxiety, terror and confusion as he wanders around the place as if searching for a destiny to save him, and there is no escape from a knife on the day of the Muslim feast!!

 The occasions of slaughter among Muslims are numerous, some of them are unavoidable and even obligatory, and some of them fall under the category of metaphor.. The knife here does not betray and does not turn, and there is nothing to change the situation, and it has become a night with the span of one hand.. There is no rescue verse here nor a miracle.. The truth has confirmed itself, there is no escaping it or escape.

 I do not know how our ram knew that the knife was prepared and ready to be slaughtered. What do you know is that it is the target of it and that is the point.. This ram of ours has never seen a knife or even the blade of a knife.. The question still stuck in my mind like a piece of wood: How did he know that he was going to slaughter, flay and die? ?!! A state of terror and panic is similar to that of a rabbit that was slaughtered one day!! How burdened is this world with cruelty and pain?!

 They would offer him water in large tin containers for him to drink before slaughter, while he refused, as if he was protesting against the fates and laws of this world, which might have seemed to him absurd and filled with grievances.. I was following the details of his movements and breaths.. He was living the moment as dense as it is.. I was helpless. About saving him.. it was for adults only, and I had no trick or decision..

 My God..!! Why does this world prey on each other, even if the formula for this predation is different?!! Is it necessary that killing, blood and slaughter be an existential and necessary law, and there is no option more merciful or less painful than it?!! Why is this life broken and bloodshed and souls are lost in it..?!

 Every animal has a feeling and a soul like us.. How cruel, absurd, and wasteful life seems.. Perhaps everyone has become a victim of laws that are definitely bigger than us, and we cannot change them.. Forest animals prey on each other, out of instinct, hunger, or compelling necessity?! But we humans can kill each other with unnecessary motives.. we kill each other out of foolishness, greed, or out of revenge.. and on top of killing each other, we kill creatures without us, to eat their meat with appetite and enjoyment..

 As a child, it seemed to me that it was sore from the question, and with untainted innocence I saw the world very painful, and every chaos in this predatory world needs research or reconsideration.. Life would be better without killing, without pain and blood.. Leaving is sad, the living suffer more than the departed, Parting moments are perhaps the most painful, sad and unhappy moments..

 Perhaps, as a child, I wanted to say all this and others through a lawyer on our behalf and on the creatures below us.. But there is no lawyer for oppressed souls, and the Eid ram has become a sacrifice in our entire history.. It is an inevitable destiny from the day Ismail ransomed the son of God’s prophet Ibrahim.. And when I grew up, I knew things Many, and I found something bigger and more..

 I was torn from pain and sadness and our ram was being slaughtered, but I felt that I was the one who was being slaughtered more than him.. Then I ran away while they were slaughtering him, and I was possessed by rejection and bitter resentment, that the world is so ugly..

 I was a child, and I did not think that my life would extend to sixty, and I watched more than ugly and terrifying.. wars and terrorism and people cutting the heads of people in order to draw closer to God, and to seek His forgiveness and pleasure.. Wars, killings, and grievous injustices that the mountains rooted in the depths of the earth cannot bear.. Foolishness is beyond foolishness.. Criminals who desire to kill, and stubbornly drown in blood in it, without feeling guilt or remorse..

 I was not aware that the world’s money lords, and the merchants of wars and fires, make all those atrocities that exceeded all terrifying and terrifying.. I did not think that the hunger of the sex is greater than all hunger.. It extends and lives forever, without diminishing or weak erections.. I did not think that our future would be kidnapped and raped, and that our dreams would be hardened with such boldness, ugliness, and drowning blood.

 I did not know that our homelands would be stuck and drowned in all this blood, and that a civilization and construction of more than five thousand years would be prolonged by all this destruction and devastation, and that death would mess with us with this amount of madness, and wreak on the earth all this corruption coming from humans and not from demons..

 I never thought that we would witness wars like the dirty wars that Yemen has been witnessing for seven long years, and that I would live and see all this death, destruction and devastation from which a handful of criminals…

 ***

(10)

Holiday full of disappointment!

Children and boys rejoice in the great feast.. A feast that is awaited for a long time and patiently is almost exhausted on the eve of his coming.. It is received in the early morning with flushing joy and happiness that overwhelms the universe.. As for my feast, I am like an orphanage, or I appear on it like a slaughtered bird.. I am afflicted by the misfortune that has befallen it. How much he spoiled and blackened his page..

 My Eid this year is sore from my mother who is running away from her family from the strife and quarrels that continued and increased beyond what could be possible.. My Eid is far from my mother and has no taste or color, and even filled with disappointment filled me inside until I felt dented..!!

 I feel that loneliness, estrangement and sadness have haunted me together on days that are supposed to be joy and happiness.. During Eid, the boys are clothed with joy and Eid clothes; You see joy in their eyes like birds, and in their faces light upon light.

 The gloom, monotony, and sullenness of most of the nights of the year, alone that is broken by the joy of Eid, its blackness is torn by the cracks and flashes of “the tamash” .. Pleasure fills the weary and tired hearts.. As for me, my business is different.. This Eid is not only spoiled by the absence of my mother, but also by the slander of our neighbor’s son. .

 I want to run away to my mother..but I still remember the last time my father forced me to run away, dragged by my earlobe all the long way..he not only ran me from my ear, but he also put a pebble between his fingers and the earlobe, and my father’s fingers keep pressing on the pebble and the earlobe. To add to my pain and pain, as he drags me with a tilted face as if he were sick.. and whenever I felt that the pain was no longer bearable, I asked him to move to my running with the second ear..

 Sometimes for a small reason and a size smaller than a bean, my father had enough to ignite a world war against me.. What provokes him more than that is that he does not see me begging for his mercy.. Not begging for his mercy meant for him that I provoked him and detracted from his prestige and he is fearful..

 Not speaking with his sympathy means that I defy him and provoke his anger and anger.. Such a matter of great gravity and defiance of his authority, and an exciting call for his re-consideration and esteem.. If he calls me to a matter and I only hesitate to answer him; You will find that the jinn wore him, and a thousand birds and a demon rode over his head.

 On that day, he tried to stab me with a “janabiya”, and the women, men and boys there prevented me from touching me, and I hit my cousin Abdo Farid in the hand, as soon as he was trying to prevent her from reaching my exhausted and overburdened body.. The feast in my face turned darker than night, and more intense From the darkness of an abyssal basement…

 I ran away from him a hundred meters or a little more, while he was trying to shoot.. I turned with the trunk of a sycamore tree, I was peeking from its side, while the embezzlement provoked my father and aroused his foolishness and protection as the Spanish wrestler provokes the agitation of a bull who had just come out of his cage to the bullring and was The wrestler was stabbed by a sword.

 The fight is intense; Women and men trying to snatch the gun from my father’s palms, while he insists on trying to shoot.. I was asking myself in horror whether bullets could penetrate the trunk of the sycamore tree and reach my body.. Something I had neither experienced nor heard of, and I do not know the protection that its trunk provides. I may assure myself that the trunk is able to take on the task of repelling bullets! Then I wonder..

 However, the distance between me and my father is still short, and perhaps my father will be able to escape from his clutches, so I made a decision that seemed to me safer, which is to take advantage of the moment of the fight, and release my legs to the wind, and escape with a quick escape.. I ran away and the panic doubled my speed. Also more pain and disappointments..

 ***

(11)

Escape and return!

I fled to the house of Al-Shanagheb, the house of my grandfather – the father of my mother – which is about five kilometers away from my father’s house, and is located in an area adjacent to the borders of the state of the south. Or close to it, but there are houses in some opposite directions..

 In the immediate vicinity of the house there is a ground water tank, and in the house there are niches, and narrow longitudinal slits, which can be used for observation and shooting from the gun to the outside, as it allows the passage of the gun barrel to the outside with a specific section and angle… It seems that this house has witnessed something that was allocated to it. In an empty time.

 My grandfather Salem Mani’, my mother’s father also owned another house, and he lived in this house during my childhood, and my mother lived there for a while, perhaps before I came.. This grandfather was a virtuous and peaceful man.. good-hearted, and pure in heart, he spends a lot of his time reading the Qur’an and speaking. In his interpretations.. he was pious, pious, loving, did not hold a grudge, did not harbor evil, and did not pay any attention to politics, yet he later paid his life for the actions of politicians.

 My father came a few hours after my escape.. I saw him from the “Al-Shenagib” house without seeing me. I saw him riding his white donkey. My father’s donkey looked like a horse. In the beginning, I felt evil and fire.. my mother’s heart was torn off the runaway in my grandfather’s house..

 I went out in terror from the house to the mountain towards the borders of the state of the south, the “People’s Democratic Republic of Yemen” .. There is a state and a system that might protect me, and curb my father’s stupidity.. Perhaps something of this I told myself as I headed to the border through a bumpy path..

 My aunt Mary, my mother’s sister, told my father that I left the house and ran away; My aunt was strong in character.. strict and firm.. she was good at courage, confrontation, and incitement as well, reading the book of sand and decoding its talismans, and dealing with him as she desired..

 My father realized my destination, and was able to speed his donkey to the southwestern side of the valley, to cut off my destination, and prevent me from reaching the border.. He pointed his rifle and pointed it towards the mountain, while I was hiding behind a rocky outcrop in the mountain’s enclosure as soon as I saw him trying to cut my way..After a long time He negotiated with my aunt Mary, and charitable men who were passing by, and my father committed himself not to harm me, in return for me to return to his house.

 Everyone assure me that everything will be fine, and nothing bad will happen to me; My father vowed in front of those who witnessed the situation that he would not harm me or take revenge. I came down from the mountain after what looked like a negotiation process led by my aunt on my side, and my father returned while swallowing his anger, feeling dissatisfied; Because he did not satiate his excitement, and did not cure his raging rage.

 I returned with a procession surrounding me.. Some women and my sister from my mother Hana’ were next to me escorting me back and five hundred meters separated us from the path of my father and his donkey.. My father was waiting for us at every turn until we approached him.. The distance began to narrow and narrow with the walk.. When we reached an area called: “Thursday Market,” my father could not bear to record what seemed to him a victory, provoked by my view in which I appeared to be the victor, and he was suspicious that I had been gloated by him, and undermined his authority and authority..

 My father could not stand what was in his chest, so he became angry.. He muttered agitated insults, and aimed his gun with emotion at me, the women protected me with their bodies; And the screaming and panic were high.. the passers-by, and everyone who was close to us, entered; The commotion ended when my father reluctantly made another covenant with the people that no harm or harm would befall me, and this time he was faithful to his promise, but reluctantly.

 My father could not bear to witness what he envisioned of my continuous victory over him, and so that he would not break a vow he had made twice before the spectacle of the people; He brought me back to our old house where my brother Ali lived, not to our new house where he lives.

 My father returned a few days later to reconcile with my mother and her family, then I returned to my father’s house again in the presence of my mother, who deeply regretted what happened, and for leaving me days during which I needed her by my side.

 The Eid passed peacefully after it almost turned into an orphanage or an unknown place.. and I was the most important reason for the continuation of my father and mother’s marriage, despite the many problems and troubles that passed and escaped from them by a miracle like a miracle..

 ***

(12)

Prevent and let down fate!!

 

Parents have compassion for their children.. they shower them with kindness and love, and surround them with care and attention.. Mostly and mostly they do not turn back a request or a request to them if it comes and is possible, or if this request is within the means and ability, and if it is impossible and impossible, they ask them for forgiveness and a sure excuse..

 My father is perhaps the most difficult and responsive.. In some of them there is no hope with him or begging.. I see him as difficult to handle even on the day of Eid.. I think his heart is made of flint.. This is the image that stuck in my mind about my father, in which I may have wronged him to an extent. Far away, and when I grew up and became a father, I matured and removed the exaggeration and exaggeration from this dark and biased image, I understood many things, and I sought excuses for him in many of them, even if I wrote some of what happened with ink from yesterday’s pain and sadness..

 It saddened me that fathers do not prevent their children from going to distant birthdays, wedding celebrations, mourning gatherings, markets and distant trips.. My father does not only mind, but is ready to commit a foolishness if I do it by force on him, or exceed his decision to prevent.. My father is provoked by the challenge, He becomes mad if he feels that what I am doing in him is signs of disobedience or rebellion, but perhaps it is enough for him to think, and there is no need for investigation and proof.

 ***

 “Al-Khidr,” and I have Saleh, I have never attended his “birth” or visited his shrine.. I used to hear from children and boys when they return from “his birth” many tales and scenes that they return every year, and they tell them with glee that ripples, and joy almost flies with its owner. As if they had gone to another planet, or visited the surface of the moon.

 When they tell stories, they compete to mention the details and add to them.. I am the only one who finds pain squeezing me and bitterness slaughtering me because I am forbidden and oppressed, and visiting him is a hope for the disappointing back of the unseen..

 At the Mawlid, people come from all sides.. Boys’ faces radiate with light, joy and happiness.. All faces meet with feasts and birthdays.. Buying and selling on mawwald is in a variety of ways.. Things for sale that you only find on such occasions.. Scenes that are not repeated in The place is only after a year.. If you miss one of them, you feel that your age has passed a year or less, and you have lost what you have been waiting for, and you have to move him for a whole year to try your luck again in the following, if disappointed again you feel that your age is wasted and your hope recedes and double sadness weighs on your shoulders .

 The banners and their bright colors captivate the heart and the eyes, and give the occasion distinction and prestige.. Spirituality that immerses you in some places and scenes.. Even exaggerations in birthdays are attractive and charming.. And the dignity that you hear about on birthdays sometimes goes beyond imagination.. You show astonishment about it, and you believe it whatever it is, and perhaps you add to it and it becomes a fantasy beyond imagination, in which there is a lot of magic and captivating fun.

 “Al-Majadhib” you see from them what amazes and astonishes..many tales that make you go crazy longing to see them a thousand times without getting anxious or bored.

 ***

 In order to attend these scenes, I prayed to God for a week and more to soften my father’s heart so that I could attend this joyful birthday.. And instead of praying to the Lord, I prayed a hundred, and instead of thanking God and asking His forgiveness and glorifying His kingdom a hundred, I did it by thousands and doubled it in the hope that God would make my father’s heart tender. Lina, so that I would be allowed to attend the “birthday” of Al-Khidr this year, a presence that I have always dreamed of and waited for, and was postponed from year to year.

 But despite my prayers, my forgiveness and my glorification, fate failed me, and my disappointment was the length and width of the sky, and my father’s heart remained hard and cruel, he did not soften or soften.. My father does not benefit from prayer, hope, magic, or “law of attraction”

 My mother also made her efforts a week ago, but she failed and was disappointed by extracting my father’s approval.. My father when he is persistent and stubborn, and his positions harden, perhaps it needs to be changed by fate, or this is what I imagine, if I have not already lived it.. I love my father Because I am a few of him.. I learned from him to go too far in stubbornness, but in what is benign, and not to give in or succumb to injustice, even if I bow down forced by a storm..

 ***

(13)

Suicide attempt!

I tried to defy and go by force to the birth of al-Khidr, but my father tied me up and tied me to a wooden pole planted in the bottom of his shop.. He beat me hard.. Looking at me, and perhaps some of them stared at me with regret and pity, while some of them tried to woo and beg my father in vain, and without the ability to save me from what I am in.. “The son is the king of his father.”

 After the time for going to the birthday party was over, my father left me tied up, and went to “Ras Sharar” to mow the crops during the harvest season, while my mother untied me, and hugged me like a lost son who returned to her after a break.. She showered me with her kindness and comforted me with words of pain and great sympathy.. I despaired of her and her helplessness with my father, then I went to fetch water from the well, while I was managing a fit of anger and alertness to take revenge on my father, even if it was by suicide..

 After everyone left the house, I closed the door from the inside, and went up to my father’s room at the top of the house, and there I found my father’s weapon within reach… Three to start shooting.. one.. two, and before I shot the number three, I heard my mother’s cow bellow, as if it was the universe’s message to me to return what I intended!! Perhaps I felt that our cow wanted me to see a farewell that I also needed, and perhaps she wanted me to stop and go back to what I intended to do, and perhaps the survival instinct was stronger than me, but she is looking for a convincing excuse in front of myself..!!

 I went to see her and give her one last farewell look, and the first time I saw her I felt that she was begging and begging that I wouldn’t..!! This is what I thought in a thought that crossed my anxious and troubled mind.. I felt that she is haunted by me and does not want me to distance or separation forever.. I kissed her forelock, wiped her back, and my palms caressed her neck until I hugged him warmly.. My behavior with her might rise to the actions of the Indians with Cows, as if they were a deity or a holy deity.

 I felt her overwhelming love, and I reciprocated an overwhelming love for her.. I felt that she was reciprocating an intimacy I had never felt before.. I overcame my tears, but they were flowing warmly.. I saw her cursing me eagerly, as if she wanted to keep a souvenir.. I felt that she too was battling her tears..Our guarded cow. From the eye with a guard hanging on her neck as a buffer that repels the eye and envy.. I am also guarded by the seven vows of jinn and demons, but who guards me from the cruelty of my father?!!

 I went to steal flour for her, pour water on it, and serve it to her as a last farewell soup.. I showered her with kisses that seemed to me to be the last farewell kisses.. As I was going away from her, I saw her staring at me.. I felt that she was begging and begging that I wouldn’t do that and that I wouldn’t leave.. I was explaining the intimacy The one between us, according to the moment I felt, or what goes with it.. It was a soliloquy and simulation that had depth in my soul, and overflowed with intense feelings and emotions that seemed to me real, without illusion or mirage..

 I looked towards the mountain, the trees and the stone. I bid farewell to everyone.. The feeling of farewell to eternity is not the same as farewell.. Eternal farewell makes you see many details of things before leaving that you do not see in your normal or natural conditions.. I found myself bidding farewell to everything, including the details that do not occur to one mind. I am on a date with death and the fulfillment of the term.. I was looking at all the things on which my eyes fell as if I were seeing them for the first time.. the walls, wood, utensils, and my mother’s clothes..

 I remembered my mother and my mother’s love.. my mother who sacrificed many things for me.. my mother who drank a thousand torments, and was patient for me and my brothers to bear what the mountains could not bear.. my mother lived a struggle that neither earth nor sky could bear.. I felt the cry of the sky over every misfortune that befalls her. ..

 Perhaps in a moment I did not imagine that there was anything that would prevent me from committing suicide and going to hell, not even our good cow, but perhaps the survival instinct overcame me, and perhaps my mother’s love overpowered me, as there is no one who loved me more than my mother .. I remembered her and she repeated to me in the past Her saying: “If something bad happens to you, I will die in agony.”

 I can’t imagine my mother seeing me commit suicide and bloodied me… I imagined that a scene like this would be shocking and tragic for the person I care about; A scene that I cannot imagine its heavy tragedy for my mother, who has endured so much for me… A scene that will not feel the extent of its catastrophe except for my mother, who will undoubtedly be afflicted by the event if she does not die at first sight..

 With the difference, dense and close to altruism and presence, that depiction that I read after nearly fifty years in the last publication of Dr. Abdul Rahman Jamil Farea on his deathbed: “For the sake of loved ones, I sanctify life and hold on to it, O God.” Yes, they are “loved ones” the title that was I am present, in a way, about what happened to my decision to commit suicide, and to move to another decision.. Because of my mother and her love and my younger sisters, I refrained from foolishness so that life would triumph over death; There is nothing wrong with a protest that is lighter and less harmful and costly, which I will do now instead of committing suicide.. That was how the words blazed at that moment in my burning conscience, and going back to a decision was the least gamble and the least harm..

 ***

(14)

Alternative to suicide!!

I have refrained from committing suicide, but I want to do something less costly and gambling.. I want the noise of expressing myself and my rejection of the oppression that swept me from my father.. It will only be a blatant act of rebellion and protest.. I want my father to regret his act of iron cruelty. I want him to hear some of my madness, in protest of his oppression.

 I cannot swallow my compulsion and remain silent as a stone or wood.. I must do something to express it with the maximum protest possible.. I want in some way to punish my father and let him hear some of my rebellious protest.. I must make him feel my grievance and his injustice to me, and that’s okay. For all people to hear my story.. I want my father to regret his excessive cruelty towards me.. My anger was still running and kicking inside me, and the blood erupted and boiled in my veins..

 I went down from the room, passed the door of the house to make sure that it was closed with the latch and the stage, then went up to the court, and put an empty “mill” box on the opposite wall, and fixed it with a knife. On camels when transported..

 I lay behind him, and tried to hold the rifle with my hand through its wooden planks to reduce the recoil during the shooting, and I fired my legs to lie in a fighting position I was not familiar with, but I was imprinted in my mind from pictures I saw in Chinese and Russian magazines that I received earlier through my brother who belongs to the Arab National Movement.” Revolutionary Democratic Party,” and Qarini Abdul Basit, brother of Muhammad Saeed Ghaleb, who was a member of one of the National Action factions.

 I knew the rifle would run behind the shooter when the shots were fired; I had to hold it in such a way that it lessened its recoil.. I tried to shoot the case I had placed on the wall, while my finger was ready on the trigger, safely open for quick release.. As soon as I pressed the trigger with my frantic finger the bullets were fired..

 I did not know that all that dust would gather from the inside in such a dense manner, and for a period that seemed to me not for a short time .. I did not know that the returning bullets would do to the walls what they did!! The truth is I don’t know how I survived?!! How did you find an impossible way?! Perhaps “Al-Khidr” was present with me, or he was good luck.

 I did not know that the sound of bullets and thick dust would be such that whoever sees the house from outside and hears the rumble of bullets inside the house, believes that an earthquake has occurred in it.. the walls became perforated like a face in which “smallpox” spread, while the smell of gunpowder was permeable. The place is crowded..

 In the crowd of dust, I tried to search for the canister of “The Mill” to which I fired bullets, and I found it and the knife fixed as it is in the wall without any injury or harm, while I found the walls were all perforated, hit by direct and return bullets.. I was surprised and felt strange that I did not hit the target that I had fired. The gun was at him, although I was close to him or not far from him, probably more than four meters.. I and the target escaped, and everyone else was wounded..

 Women, men and children rushed to the house to see what happened!! The first to arrive was our close neighbor, Mana Saeed.. The door of the house is closed, and I assure everyone from the courthouse that nothing happened..

 Questions crowd about what happened, and the faces of those present in a hurry are filled with astonishment.. Some of them are banging on the door of the house and they are about to break it. With a broken heart, and broken with bereavement..

 I went down and opened the door and reassured people that I was fine, while my mother searched my body and my clothes to see what I had done myself. And when I was sure of my safety, I went to hide me from my father in another diwan in the house..a dark divan filled with bundles of dry plantations..As for my father, he rushed from the head of “Sharar” perhaps to take revenge on me the most severe, but he did not find him and my mother told him that I fled to the mountain..

 I stayed for two days in my secret hiding place where only my mother, her tenderness and bread, comforted me. Nevertheless, I did not escape from a punishment that was postponed, and my mother did not escape from a hundred questions and problems.

 In two days I felt that I was tired of my hiding place, and it also bored me.. I asked my mother to leave a space between my sleeping brothers for me to sleep among them, then she woke me up before dawn to go back to my hiding place without my father seeing me.. But my matter was revealed after an hour.. What a disappointment my trick and my mother’s trick !!

 My father passed by my sleeping brothers around ten o’clock at night while they were asleep. I was the only one among them. I was apprehensive and could almost hear the crawling ants.. I heard him counting my brothers and saying to my mother there is one extra in number. But my father got down on his knees between us, and began to feel with his fingers, counting the heads and naming them for my mother, and my mother was trembling in the feast trying to recite Surat Yassin with her concealment, while my father counted and felt the heads. They quarrel and my voice and the voice of my terrified brothers and the sound of the quarrel fill the space of the village and its vicinity.. A scream that tears the serenity of the night I sleep and settle, and leaves the people of our village and its surroundings with bewilderment, questions and panic..

 I took the opportunity of the moment of the quarrel between my father and my mother and executed me. I ran and jumped from the house.. It was a risk, but fear and panic worked the miracle, and perhaps the adrenaline secreted by the adrenal glands in such a case, we avoided what might happen to us from possible harm.

 ***

(15)

 

Find a place to sleep!

 

I jumped over the house and ran away to a not far place.. I crept into a small cemetery as wide as the “Ijt al-Jyf” mountain. I felt lonely, anxious and afraid.. It was impossible for me to sleep here, and the dawn was still far away.. An unsafe place from the surprises that might hide or languish. wait..

 I was afraid that the dead would come out of their graves.. I don’t know one of them, and they also don’t know me.. Maybe there is a strangeness between us and an isthmus that prevents us from harmony and harmony.. I don’t want to hear the torment of the dead while they suffer.. I can’t stand hearing denial and naker.. I imagine them terrifying and they are They ask the dead in their graves and flog them with whips of burning red fire.. I expected them to come down from the sky after midnight to take account and punishment.. It terrifies me to see a man or a woman forced to pray on top of a rock from hell.. I cannot bear to hear the sound of wailing and pain.. I have heard tales There is a lot about the life of the dead in the graves, and I can only believe it because I have not heard anyone denying it or questioning its credibility.

 I have to leave this scary place.. It is important to sleep in a place less terrifying and fearful.. I want a safer place also from rams and hyenas.. I should not be far from people’s homes.. If a “thief” or a predatory hyena comes upon me, I find someone He rushes to my rescue, or I hurry for help to a nearby house.. I have heard many times about old men who were eaten by “the predator” or devoured by hyenas, and only remnants of bones and limbs remained of them.

 I took refuge in a place close to the house of a good person crushed by poverty, his name is Thabet Saleh.. He toiled from morning to evening on a cheap rent.. plowing the land for people and carrying heavy stones on his back all day long.. He builds people’s houses, while his house is very humble, but his heart was He is greater than the palace of a king, and his morals are great, greater than the owners of all palaces.

 Thabet Saleh heard my steps in the mountain, and the night in our countryside had a call to prayer.. He heard pebbles and stones falling because of climbing some walls and mountain bulges.. He was sure that something was going on.. He turned the light towards the voice and started calling from there?! Repeat it two or three times..I am more certain that there is something that needs attention..

 He seemed to me brave and he did not stop calling, but went up to the place I was in to find out and reveal the matter.. He found me and recognized me and insisted that I go down to stay with his family.. I went down with him.. His wife welcomed me and she was my mother’s friend.. She did not believe that I was the one whose husband found him in the mountain..

 She welcomed me with a loving mother.. She honored me and made me feel that I had a second mother and a loving father who is her husband.. She asked me what happened and why was all that screaming that they heard in our house?!

 I told her what happened.. Her eyes filled with tears and ran down her prominent cheeks.. Her tears revealed the wicked wickedness of the lamp between us.. I felt overwhelming affection for them and a great love I am looking for..

 In the morning, Thabet Saleh’s wife conveyed the news secretly and discreetly to my sick mother because of what happened to her from me and my father, and I reassured her with certainty, and after two days I returned home after negotiations with my father, perhaps it seemed difficult, but it was well..

 I went back to our home and my father was complaining to my brother Ali Seif Hashid, who was traveling when I was shot from the gun in our home office.. I heard my father saying to him: “Look at your brother, what am I doing!!” .. He was showing him the bullet-ridden walls of the diwan, and what happened to them From harm..and from that day my brother took me to his house in the same village with my aunt, my father’s second wife, who showered me with her tenderness and overwhelming kindness..

 ***

(16)

Thursday Market and Al-Awlaqiah!!

 

When we were children in the village, we waited impatiently for Thursday, and if fates asked us to wish for what we desire and desire, we would ask her to make all our days a Thursday that does not stop and does not end..

 We were overwhelmed with joy as soon as we went to the Thursday market.. We waited for it with longing and eagerness.. For us children, this market was like a festive bazaar or carnival.. Thursday is a bright and special day on weekdays.. If it wasn’t for this day, our days would have been mixed with their streaks.. Thursdays were crowns Our days, and their joyful intervals.. Our coming and going days are meaningless without Thursday.. Thursday is our beautiful space in which we see what we do not see or hear on the other days..

 The roar and clamor characterized this place and this joyful day.. It is the place where people gather.. They flock to it from all sides.. They cross long distances, go through the hardships of the terrain, defy the boundaries of division, and meet in the Thursday market.. They greet each other with eagerness and longing. They talk to each other warmly.

 The center of the market is crowded with its people, and its edges extend.. It is swarming with people and goods.. buying and selling and life swarming in it.. you hear the roar and murmurs of the market before you see it or reach it.. hustle and bustle and life and diligent activity.. they buy and buy.. they talk and giggle..

 Some of them eat breakfast in the morning, some of them drink tea and coffee, and some of them eat lunch in the middle of the day.. There is a café for “Dawla” which is a tall white woman with a beautiful face and tattoos have increased in beauty and elegance.. The pandemic of extremism and puritanism has not yet reached our villages. At that time, the veil was not hit on the faces of women, and it was chastity, innocence and kindness that prevailed without outrage of modesty or being harassed, or the presence of something that spoils innocence and life..

 In the Thursday market there was a café for “Rukeez” the kind smiling man, whom you feel familiarity, contentment and comfort when you see him.. what his hands made of food was delicious, and his coffee improves the quality and adjusts the mood.. and there is Hamid, the best of the poor and kind man, who sells cold water and sour lime ; In his melodious voice, he declares, “The Banhais, the Banhais.”

 Many people in the market advertise and promote their goods, and sometimes the “Mutreb” climbs a high place in the market, and you hear announcements for mawlids and occasions or what matters to people in a general matter, and the announcement of events begins with “the present knows the absent..” All of these people have left, and today we found ourselves in the presence War, devastation, destruction and blood, among the scoundrels, thieves, criminals and corrupt people.. Oh my God, how beautiful those days were, and how good the people were..!

 ***

 Thursdays were festive holidays for the children who went to the market.. But one of them for me was a day of anger and strife.. The crazy Ali Abdullah Naif, called “Al-Awlakiah” was famous among the children.. He was engulfed by a fit of tension and nervous convulsions.. A movement of emotion suddenly erupted in him. And there is a kind of aggression, and emptying a charge of tension and anger, accompanied by the uttering of swearing and insulting words, and the name “Al-Awlakiah” is evoked in it..

 The truth is, we do not know what is the secret of this “Awlaqiyya” in the life of this “madman”!! And what does it have to do with it!! To be named after her!! “Al-Awlakiah” is the closed mystery in the life of this man who is afflicted with a psychological and nervous condition and a kind of “madness”.

 I remembered this while reading Naguib Mahfouz’s story “Whisper of Madness”, which he wrote in the thirties of the last century, imitating the situation, in which he tries to answer the question of what is madness?! At the outset, he wrote: “It seems to be a state as mysterious as life and death, and you can tell a great deal about it if you look at it from the outside, but the interior, the essence, is a closed explanation.”

 “Al-Majnun” Awlakiah was an obsession with anxiety and fear for the children in the market.. They were terrified of him when they saw him.. and sometimes he would attack and chase them, without reason, especially if he was in a state, attacking and hitting whoever he found in front of him from the children, and continuing his walk without being reproached. no one cares..

 Sometimes he was stoned, and he made trespassing movements, which would bring panic and fear to children, and sometimes adults would object to him, shouting at him: “Without madness, you have afflicted the ignorant.” I don’t really know why he does this?! Why is this “madness” aggressive towards children?! Were children ever assaulted, harmed, or provocative?!! I do not know!

 And with this “crazy”, I had a story… I don’t know how old I was at the time when I was surprised when he broke the crowd in the market, and hit my head against the back of my head with a strong blow… I don’t know how a “crazy” fit of anger caught me… I fought with him, and the madman was asking Some people intervene to end the fight, and he asks them: Whose son is this madman?!! As the children surrounded us, they watched what was happening.

 People intervened and broke up the fight.. It seemed to me that madness works with madness.. I remembered this years ago, and I clashed with some madmen, but I discovered recently that you should not waste much of your time with madmen, or it is okay to fight with them, without Stop looking for those who stand behind them, and their supporters.. If you find them against you, these bastards deserve madness, and even the results, no matter how great and great they are for you, have their merit and some duty to perform..

 Al-Awlakiah began to ask about my father, and when they told him, and he was known in the market, he complained to me and said to him:

 – You have a crazy son.. Look what your son did to me! ..

 He was showing my father his cut shirt, fingernails and scribbling on his hands and some parts of his body! .. However, the children present, including Yassin Abdel Wahhab, helped me with a testimony in my favor, and they testified that “Al-Awlakiah” was the one who started slapping me in the head, and with that testimony, I escaped punishment He was harsh and was waiting for me from my father who was accustomed to strictness and strictness.. From that day on, it was said that Awlakih had stopped being aggressive towards children..

 Al-Awlakiah passed away a few years ago, and it was said that he recovered from his psychological state before he died.. but his other illnesses did not give him much time.. I haven’t seen him for a long time.. he left life quietly.. God’s mercy covers him..

 ***

 The innocence in those days was overwhelming, and the freedom of women was greater, and the blackness over women we can only see in the beautiful “Thabit” dress before Wahhabism and the extremist Salafi ideas that came from outside Yemen in the early eighties..

 I still remember the words of my aunt “Sunbulah” Umm Abdo Farid with one of the marketers of extremism and puritanism in our villages in those days, as soon as he was trying to greet her with the tip of his fingers, wrapping her with a piece of cloth, the ends of which were folded on the side of his hands and turned on his back from behind..

 And she said to him:

 – Until yesterday, my son, and you pissed on me.. I used to “piss you off” and “put you down” and today you don’t want to greet me except by force.. I am like your mother.. Where did you come from this religion?!!

 It was a harsh protest against this ingratitude and the superficial behavior that this young boy showed against a woman of the age and stature of his mother.. But this ingratitude was done in the name of religion, and they assassinated the innocence and kindness that prevailed..

 ***

(17)

Ants, mice, monkeys and a child’s tenderness!!

 

I was a young child, sensitive and sensitive.. Emotions and feelings.. Many of the behaviors that appeared from me at that stage might have been natural due to the intensity and rush of those feelings and feelings during the era of my childhood raging with it. To many, she may appear unhealthy, if not foolish and naïve.

 I still remember putting various kinds of grains on the doors of ant houses for food, and I wanted them to live comfortably and prosperously, or to relieve them of fatigue and deprivation, and to spare them a greater danger.. She goes away from her homes, so as not to risk her life, and be trampled under human feet, or crushed under the hooves of cattle.

 I help her build houses for her that are sunken in the mud, and fortify them with stones and tin so that I can protect them from the ruins of the torrent and the inundation of rain, and so that their houses remain full of destruction or destruction. From it, and what I try to avoid from the dangers that I see as imminent or imminent.. I thought that the ants understood my words as Prophet Solomon understood the hadith of the ants, and the ants understood the words of the Prophet Solomon..

 Sometimes I would collect some stray and wandering ants, and build a settlement for them, inside the tin of the empty “Nido” milk can, after I filled it with clay dough, and built for it rooms and stores that I filled with all kinds of grains, so that it would not die or starve, and would not abandon its newly created homes.

 I guarded the ants and nurtured them for days and weeks, and when I traveled to Aden, I went with the tin can to a remote and safe place.. I planted it in my father’s land, and provided them with a lot of grain to feed and live as long as possible, despite the aunt’s noise, and her opposition to what I do, until I appeared before her as a deranged and deranged child and she She eavesdrops, while I talk to the ants in my solitude with them.

 ***

 In another incident, I set a trap for mice.. In the morning, the mouse was found lifeless, and it fell into the grip of the trap, the iron striking its suffocated neck, propped up from below by protrusions and blacksmith’s teeth that became erupting at the bottom of its neck, and its soul overflowed, perhaps hours ago..

 I saw a small mouse next to her, almost attached to her in a touching and sad scene.. I watched him as if heartbreak was possessing him and paralyzing his strength.. I saw him breathing quickly, perhaps burdened with sadness, anxiety and confusion.. Try..

 I tried to arouse his distaste and arouse in him the instinct of life or survival, but he began to be indifferent and indifferent to me.. He refused to escape or leave the place.. I asked myself: Is he inexperienced with danger and does not know what threatens him with death or does he not realize what human actions will lead to? ..?! Or did he only feel comfortable by staying next to his strangled mother, and it was impossible for him to separate from her, even if he caught up with her?!

 I was touched by the scene, and tears came from my eyes.. I begged for forgiveness from a victim who had passed away, but she could no longer forgive and forgive, and her soul went to her pariah in heaven.. He has his strengths, and he lives freely, and I prayed for him to have a long life and a good residence.

 Perhaps I wished to mourn the murdered mother, but who would suggest to me a verse, or tempt me to create a poem?!! I regretted my actions the most.. I grieved greatly for this much.. I prayed to God, and asked Him for forgiveness, and I read to her soul what I had memorized of short surahs of the Qur’an, and she accompanied her with burial ceremonies that seemed to me solemn..!!

 Her soul departed to her pariah, and to this day the question still gnaws at my head, and pecks at my exhausted memory; Why does all this and the like, and more of it and what is worse, happen in a war that is more horrific and raw..?! The truth is that it is more than a question.. more than a puzzle, and a riddle than a riddle that I have not answered to this day, and I am close to sixty..!! As the echo came back, he was whispering inside me and asking Koswas: The absurdity of life and death cannot be wisdom!!

 ***

 In 2005, if not in the following year, a similar case occurred in the “Al-Faqous” building in Sana’a, in which I was staying, after one of my sons, without my knowledge, set a mousetrap; So I grabbed the hand of one of the mice, and the strange thing is that a number of mice kept hovering around him.. Maybe they were trying to do something that they were unable to do, and maybe even understood.. They were hurting when their companion happened, and maybe they were trying to save him, or this is what they were hoping for in such a harsh moment..

 When I saw this scene, I rushed to release the mouse caught in the grip of the trap, and besides that, I made sure to grant salvation to all the mice who were hovering around him, and in close proximity to him.. They deserved to be saved at least because they did not let him down or leave him.. They were the most loyal to him. In his ordeal, his family and his injury..

 ***

 At some point in my childhood, I forbade my mother from slaughtering a chicken to help me with the disease.. Treating the disease with chicken broth and meat, I was unpleasant and unpalatable, if not sometimes repulsive, and perhaps sometimes similar to treating the patient with ironing and marking the skin with fire, before I later got used to the reality of adverb..

 I was feeling overjoyed, extending the life of our chickens, and being satisfied with their eggs.. I feel a deep comfort, seeing the chickens live, and I saved them from a slaughtering and painful fate.. I am overwhelmed with happiness when I hear her happy voice in the days that follow the day she was rescued, or I see her shining and lover of life. I deeply feel that life is better and more deserving of death and disease…but today’s reality is shocking and oppressive, imposing its conditions and cruelty on us, and the world is a great bewilderment, and confusion has become great, and its tyranny over us has become stronger and heavier in an unjust world.

 ***

 I once owned a little monkey as a gift to me by an old woman, or perhaps my mother bought it for me after noticing my attachment to her at first sight as a lover of a hoof.. The truth is I no longer remember how I owned her, but I remember that happiness was overwhelmed by me to an extent beyond imagination.. The first time I saw Monkeys are so close in the distance, and I see some of their actions mimic or close to our actions as humans, and even give us joy, laughter, wonder and broad and bright smiles..

 These “monkeys” used to sympathize with me and exchange feelings of cordiality and innocence.. They fill my void and bring me a lot of joy, happiness and wonder.. They fill my life with joy, and perhaps I will make up for it and compensate me with a lot of tenderness that we both lost.. I love her madly. She is very, very caring for me, too.

 My father came from Aden, and the first time he saw me with her was as if she was being shielded by a thousand demons.. He hit me and hit her.. I was flogged and able to bear the beating, but I am unable to leave her.. But he forced me under duress to leave her to the mountain, and the fate is still unknown..

 The idea I had, which I heard from one of the aunts, was that the herd of monkeys in the mountain would not accept “monkeys” from outside their herd, but would attack them fiercely.. They would be with them and would eat them, because they are only alien to them and do not belong to their herd, and because the smell of humans remains in them and will not leave them. I was imagining her tragic and brutal fate.

 I lived in great pain, perhaps more than the pain I imagined in it.. I lived a depression similar to the grief of mourning.. a heartbreak that seemed to me boundless.. my condition was like someone who lost a loved one who could not live without him.. Forever..

 I used to imagine her while she was on the mountain suffering from hunger and thirst, wrung by the pain of separation, and a lot of lost and unbearable loss, and an unknown fate, and its possibilities are terrifying.. Most probably, but there is no doubt that its end will be catastrophic and painful.

 For a time, I suffered more than I could bear.. I feel that my skinny body has become wrecked and threatened with no tricks.. My imagination wanders away, investigating her bitter suffering.. Our suffering is great, and the suffering of both of us seems daunting..

 I used to imagine her running to the herd of monkeys, begging them for mercy and begging, while the monkeys attacked her horribly, and gnawed at her with the ferocity of carnivorous beasts.. ripping her skin, burying her fangs in her skinny body, and quarreling her limbs and body parts.. I lived in pain and heartbreak that day exceeded my exhausted memory..

 In part, it was a childhood that tended towards human rebellion, perhaps in some of it was of another kind.. I felt that it was a childhood worthy of my humanity, and in it a protest against death, futility and this miserable life..

 ***

 My sensuality still accompanies me in my old age, and refuses to leave me even if my arrogance of manhood mocks me.. My conscience still blames me as soon as I ignore it.. Existential protests are still buzzing inside me and filling me with noise.. Inside me is still a human being screaming and my conscience interrogating in every situation and tragedy..

 In this horrific and horrific war, our tragedy has become yes and greater than this great universe or this is what I feel in a deep way.. this ferocious war that lasted for a long time and the greatness of our affliction with it.. this war that poured hell and great scourge on our heads, and no longer distinguishes between stones and humans. .

 Today I have grown up and experienced life more, and my tenderness is still expanding, and my protest is still growing.. I am still to this day in many of me haunted by that young child, and I have become more gray-haired, and I may be approaching an approaching old age.. One year in this fierce war is older than seven years Lean, and the war became long and did not want to end..

 Exile Exile awaits me at the edges of a grave to pour dust on my body, and the unknown is rushing to come towards us without a shroud or a grave.. the graves crowded.. the graves narrowed us.. the cemeteries are now without balconies or competitors, and the bodies are looking for their coffins, in a homeland that has even vanished It has become smaller than a tomb that still does not know the age of its owner.

 ***

(18)

I almost became a criminal!!

In the first stage of my life, I was sensitive like a highly sensitive measuring device.. introverted, shy and transparent.. sensitive and emotionally charged.. rebellious to the point where I rebelled against my father.. emotional to the point where I think of salvation from life.. sometimes wretched to the point of madness. A struggle in which good over evil, life over death, and man over everything else.

 Perhaps one day a corrupt idea crossed my mind, but soon its contradiction within me would resist it.. Maybe one day I wanted to have a cane to take it from those without me as the professor used to do with his students, then I remember what I went through, so I expel her and do not allow her to come back to me..

 In my childhood, I attacked the homes of wasps, and they were just chasing me, and their stings got from me, and my face was swollen from their stings, and my neck and limbs thickened, and their poison ran through my skinny body, and some of them needed days to recover and heal from their tumor, and the fever that I had because of their stings..

 I was the aggressor at that time, and she was defending her right to life.. her right to live and she found herself in a forced life.. I did not understand this situation at the time.. and when I grew up, I found that life does not appeal to me, and its evils hurt me.. I search for justice and goodness. The pure, a world that has not yet come and may not come forever..

 ***

 Among the most important books that played a role in the formulation of my later awareness and thinking, the book Criticism of Religious Thought by Sadiq Jalal Al-Azm, a book from the history of political torture in Islam, the book of political assassination in Islam by Hadi Al-Alawi, materialistic tendencies in Arab Islamic philosophy by Hussein Marwa, and the hidden truth of Faraj Fouda. And some books of Salama Musa, and the novel of the village of al-Batool by Muhammad Haniber and others.

 I dreamed of being a martyr.. I was affected by the story of Sanaa Muhaidli’s martyrdom.. I grew up and did not forget her story, and I named my first daughter Sana after and admiration for this Lebanese girl who carried out a suicide attack against a convoy of the Zionist occupation vehicles in southern Lebanon..

 I admired and read about the Cuban Revolution, and about the revolutionary Guevara at an early stage in my life.. I named my son Fidel before his name became Fadi, in gratitude to Fidel Castro and Cuba to the fortress of steadfastness, and the voice that sided with Arab issues in international forums during the “America” war on Iraq..

 I belonged to the left, and named my second son Yasar before his name became valid..At one stage of my life I became biased towards the poor and the left in economics, and perhaps at another stage I became disillusioned with liberalism with regard to freedom of thought, but later I found all liberalism may not accommodate an idea or a book.

 Today, I claim that I have become an opinion, and I belong to man first, and I tend to be independent a lot, and I refuse to be one in a herd.. I do not like the restrictions that want me to live in their holes, or their dull past.. I resist injustice, oppression and tyranny under any title that comes to it, or By any name..I am loving freedom to the fullest extent..

 ***

 Being in a stage of your childhood or all of it sensitive and tender does not mean that you did not commit foolishness, emotions and abnormal actions at some stage, some of which may reach the point of crime or almost.. Various factors may push you at a critical moment to lose your mind, and not to appreciate the results of your actions And maybe you and the victim together are victims of your reality..

 Being a very emotional child does not mean that you will be a perfectly normal event, and that your teenage life will be free of sharp bumps sometimes, and that it will not deviate from the right path, perhaps in a crude way.. a life that will be surrounded by a lot of rebellion, and perhaps naughty and cruelty also in some way. In a society that practices cruelty as a virtue..

 I lived the cruelty of life in a more severe reality, and perhaps I found myself in some moments, even if it was fleeting, imprinted with a sharp emotion, and I committed or almost committed something that is outside my context and contradicts my nature and instinct, but soon followed by regret, or guilt, and wishing that I had not done what I did..

 My life is in a part of my childhood and adolescence, in which my relationship with my father may have been harsh in some of them, but I can say that in the last ten years of my father’s life before his death, who died probably in the last quarter of the end of 1997, it was fine and fine.. Love, friendship and feeling Dense each other.

 My father died while he was very satisfied with me, and I was satisfied with him to that extent and more.. He relinquished his cruelty and his patriarchal authority, and I gave up my rebellions against him.. A lot of love, respect and appreciation prevailed between us.. I reconciled with my father to a large extent, and I did not I reconcile with the tyrannical authorities to this day, and I am about to enter the door of my sixty years of rejecting tyranny under any title.

 My rebellion against the unjust political authority has continued to this day with all its false names and masks.. I live with tireless stubbornness.. my life is rejection, compulsion and continuous resistance with it, perhaps because the tyrannical authority, in any dress other than my father, refuses to give up its authority to the people, and seeks with its hard, toil and violence to subjugate them She owns them, owns their present and their future as well.

 I can only say thank you, my father. I had a school where I learned and was able to resist the authority that seeks to impose its power, authority and visions on people, and it wants to own them, and own their present and future forever.

 In the same place, I claim that life, tragedies, many scenes, and reading about what is human have taught me as a whole to reject the practice of oppression and oppression of people, and to avoid recklessness and sharp emotions that lead me to regret and guilt.. I make sure that my conscience is my guide and watchdog, against injustice under any name. .

 I find myself against violations of human rights and freedoms, whatever the allegations of the violating authority.. against injustice and tyranny in all its forms, the first of which is the one who wears the garb of religion and whose oppression and tyranny wear the guise of the sacred.. is biased towards the causes of the poor to whom I find myself affiliated, but without affecting the place and position of man. And his dignity.. I studied law and the judiciary and defended the rights and freedoms of people.. I adore freedoms and dream that their ceiling would be the sky, and even more than that if it was possible..

 ***

 I know that the criminal was not created as a criminal, or was born with a desire for crime, but there are various factors, and multiplying and stressful circumstances converging, and slippery paths that overcome the prohibitions..

 Between normality and criminality, which I mean is a fine line in a moment of narrowness and blindness that we do not see, so we slip into what is not good, even if regret overtakes any of us; Fate answered him: I unleashed madness; So she slipped into a slippery slope, and fell into a grave predicament, and “there is no hour of regret”… Here the power of punishment is necessary without excessive, politicizing or violating justice..

 Perhaps the dewy breezes in the mourning stove become a mass of flame.. Perhaps tender and sensitive feelings will become a criminal who threatens those around him with danger, and whoever was sensitive and emotionally charged, he may be invaded by a pollution in his mind, or a fit of madness.. Perhaps he who used to care for ants, feed them and be kind to them And whoever used to release mice from the trap, sympathize with them and understand their need for life, becomes for once, his father’s killer.

 Perhaps someone who was destined to be a high-level judge, lawyer or jurist in the future of his life, becomes a man with a fall in the night, or a slip during the day, that kills a person..

 ***

 I am a human being, and I was almost overcome by evil one day.. I almost became a victim of my circumstances, my first indiscretion, my haste and foolishness, and perhaps also my hateful selfishness, and my stray emotions that got out of my control and forced the precautions.. I almost became a criminal who killed his father, and at the same time a victim of this reality. The condemned and the unknown..

 I still remember when I went looking for fire water in the herd of Aden, to buy it with a little money I needed for my other needs.. but the seller told me that day that he only sells fire water with a license..

 I went looking for another way, and I was assassinated and revolted.. I suppressed my big anger, and turned my heat inside me for a while.. I bought a knife and folded it with a white paper, and put it under the belt.. I hid it with my shirt and aprons.. I went looking for it in the mosques that I usually go to, but I I did not find him, as if “Al-Hafiz” at that time protected him or sided with him..or I was protected by an angel, luck or the kindness of fate..

 I searched for him in all the places he frequents, and I am supposed to find him, but on that day I did not find a trace of him or a glimpse of an eye, as if luck or the kindness of fate was intended and deliberate to protect me from myself and save him..

 I was looking for him, imagining what I would do.. My right hand was stimulating like a hawk waiting to pounce.. My hand was jumping out of me in the air to do what I imagined and whimpered.. I was walking nervously, similar to that madman called “Al-Awlakiyah” that was named after him, and his fame overcame his name that had vanished. In the orbits of loss..

 He was nervously shooting his hand into the air, as if he meant to dig his hand into the stomach of the one who saw him in front of him, and we did not see him and wonder.. It was like a knot breathing from its deep and buried dungeon..

 When the blood calmed down in my burning veins, and the lava and fires that were sweeping me and eating me and burning in my angry interior subsided, I felt great remorse. Because he let me down in a fit of recklessness and madness.. I was under 18 at the time..

 Today, my imagination is recovering a memory buried by time and casting its shadows on it, I imagine that terrifying and frightening situation, and I see myself that I almost resemble those criminals who fell into what is forbidden and heavy, in a moment of weakness and selfishness, or the recklessness of anger, or provocative frivolity.. I remember the folly that One day she would take me with her to prison, and a disgrace would follow me without ending, and then I would spend the rest of my life regretting, sad and heartbroken.

 And between today and the distant yesterday, everything was different.. I began to see extending the hand as a rude backwardness, and slander of the tongue as something unbecoming of a human being..

***

(19)

Rebellious despite the decline

I began as a rebel, and I lived and am still a rebel to this day, and my life is fading into decline and demise.. The world revolves, and the circles revolve on the transgressor.. If I am gone, tomorrow I return with dawn, I come again, an unrepentant knight.. I teach generations how to be liberated from the culture and herds of slaves.  .. How do you get used to rebellion, and how to refuse and resist.. It is full of rejection, and rebellion as long as I live.. I am alive and alive as long as I am still resisting.

 Perhaps reality dictates waiting, or I bow to the storm until it passes.. Maybe I calm down a little, or take a break from a long war, and then I go back to finish what I started.. I don’t surrender myself to a tyrant who wants to domesticate me as a sheep, or I ride like a beast.. I am still resisting.  With my awareness, molars and hands..

 When injustice wants my silence, I say to him, “Silence is a shame,” and when the night asks me who we are?!  I answer him, “We are lovers of the day.”  I could die of suffocation or suffocation.

 I refuse to be overwhelmed by injustice no matter how lavish or opulent it tempts me.. Anxiety of defiance roams within me like a lion in its cage.. I resist death in the iron-enclosed silence dungeon.. I reject silencers even if they are made of glass that drinks from the sparkles of the sun..  And if Maher made it of crystal and diamonds, and he made it as bright as Najaf..

 And if I am forced to be silent for a moment, the range inside me is full of noise and clamor.. and if I slip into myself in a moment of weakness or weakness, my conscience does not rest from the fierce war raging in my deep depths, until his victory resounds throughout the farthest reaches, and the snarling voice reaches the heights of the sky..

 They said I am sick.. I said I own myself wherever I am and I am in charge, I do not accept to be a slave to anyone even myself.. I desperately refuse to be in a herd, or to be in the crowds as a ride.. I am free son of a free, it is not from my religion and my covenant is a slave and a master..  One day I will be a slave who will be dragged to the slave market.. I will not be a slave even if a prayer for slavery is a thousand prophets, and a prayer for slavery is a thousand verses..

 In the darkened darkness my conscience was my star, and at the head of the ocean my conscience was the compass.. my conscience first before the ego.. before everyone and even if I was among them.. my conscience finds it difficult to be cowardly silence in the face of heavy tyranny.. an absurd world riven with bitterness and pain, and deepens in savagery every day  ..

 ***

 Unleash your voice oh citizen..Do not give in to the tyranny of criminal tyrants..And if fate has decreed that the iron-fenced prison must be used, then let your roar in the distance, and declare that you are free, son of a free man, even if you are a prisoner..Awaken the people with the roar of an unconquerable lion.. Release  Your majestic and fearful voice.. affirmed your presence and protest, and informed the world that you are still alive and not dead..

 I drink water with a grain of salt, or with the flavor of what you want.. I love the salty life with the taste of rebellion and struggle.. and the delicious achievement by excellence, and the uniqueness of pleasure..  Rebellion against the great delusion, so that you do not live plundered or oppressed and humiliated.

 If you find the truth clear and clear, grab it and give up like a drowning person.. catch it with your hands.. bite it with your teeth and molars.. as big as the sky and do not bow to an oppressor.. do not accept humiliation even if he ascends you to the throne of Rome and Persia..  Resist those who want to humiliate you, or eliminate your existence.

 Do not compromise..Do not compromise..Do not waive your rights..Do not continue injustice for a day, even if filled with a paradise of honey or bliss..Rebellion in your sunrise and sunset..Rebellion and if you live in the last moment of your life or your decline..Rebellion against this  messing around all the time..

 Continued..

 ***

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